Grease Monkey
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Napoleon brings his Jag in for service and discovers a little something extra under the hood. A Working Stiffs story


You can call me a grease monkey if you want to, I don't mind. In fact, a lot of my pals call me GM, that's grease monkey for short, case you didn't figure it out on your own. I've never been very good with people or with book learning, but there ain't an engine that can out-fox me. I ain't sayin' they can't, just that they ain't yet.

I was working in this little garage in a small town in upstate New York when this fella's car broke down. It was one of them newer models and Gary knew right off to call me in. I'd been fishing on Finger Lake when he got word to me and 'course I came right away. I'd been tryin' to get my hands on one of them new car engines for awhile now and I had it purring like a mamma cat singing to her newborn kittens. This feller, he told me that he came from New York City and he was always lookin' for folks to hire. 'Course I told him that I didn't finish school – after grade nine, I knew what I wanted to do and Pa, he let me quit once I proved I could earn my livin' with motors. Anyhow, long story short (I know, too late for that now), I up and moved to New York City. And dang if most of them folks, they're just like me, workin' and goin' from day to day.

I started workin' for UNCLE in the motor pool. We supply all sorts of cars to the different sections. And these are special cars, bullet proof glass and armor plating, in some cases. In others, we get the engines all souped up. From the outside, they don't look nothing' special, but step on the gas too hard and you'll be in the next state 'fore you blink. I only got a couple of folks telling me what to do; most days, I just pick up my clipboard and do what's there. They leave me alone and I keep my own company. I like it that way. I usually don't have to talk to anyone else or work with anyone else and I like it that way. Usually, but that's not always how it is…

I was buried up to my butt in a carburetor overhaul on one of Mr. Waverly's escort cars when I heard the rumbling of my favorite car comin' in. Sure enough, a couple a seconds later, here comes Mr. Solo and that sweet little Jag of his. Now, Mr. Solo, he's one of the smartest fellas I know and real nice, but he don't know squat about car engines. He keeps Lucille, that's what I call her, polished up nice and pretty, but her poor engine was a mess. He'd been takin' her to some other fella and I pretty near begged him to let me have her. I got poor Lucille back on her feet, so to speak, and I been takin' care of her ever since.

"Good morning, GM," he said, real polite like. He's always like that, talkin and carryin' on like he's got breedin', and I don't mean to make like he don't, but I've heard stories that kinda make me wonder at times. Anyhow, I went right over to Lucille and gave her fender a lovin' pat, after makin' sure I didn't have grease on my hands. I love the smooth feel of her, all slick from wax and I could see me grinning back at myself.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Solo?" Usually we didn't work on private cars, but I made an exception for him. It's a nice break from the Fords, Chryslers, and Chevys that make up most of our fleet.

"She's a little sluggish this morning and I'm not sure why. Then over fifty and she starts to vibrate." I ain't about to ask where he found to drive over fifty inside city limits. Ain't my concern. That would be between him and the police.

"Okie, dokie, pop the hood and let me look." I waited a second for him to find the release and then lifted the hood, all the while trying to think about what would cause such a thing. Lucille's engine is a beautiful thing to see, but this morning, there was a little something extra, this little box with some blinking lights on it. "Hey, Mr. Solo, maybe you want to see this."

'What did you find?" Mr. Solo joined me and he pointed at that little box thing. "What on Earth is that?"

"That was kinda my thinkin' too, Mr. Solo. I got no idear." I sort of poked the gizmo and the lights raced for a second and then slowed back down again.

"I… ah, wouldn't do that again if I were you, GM, not until we know what it is." Mr. Solo got out his communicator and tugged out the end of it after pulling the top off. "Illya, I think we are need of your special services. Can you spare a moment?"

"Of course, where are you?"

"In the motor pool."

"No, seriously… where are you?"

"I'm in the motor pool." Mr. Solo held the communicator out towards me. "Say hello to Illya, GM."

"Ah, hey there, Mr. Kuryakin. I think you kinda need to see this."

"I'm on my way."

Mr. Solo closed the communicator back up and stuck it into his pocket. "And now we wait." He bent over and stared at the little box like it would talk to him or something.

With nothing better to do, I went back to work on the carburetor. Pretty soon, I seen a familiar figure trotting up to us. Mr. Kuryakin weren't kidding when he said he was on his way. As soon as he saw Mr. Solo, he went right there.

"So show me this interesting bit of something you found."

I walked up to them, wiping my hands on a rag. "Hey, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Mr. Brown, how are you?"

"A little confused." I pointed to the do-hickey and Mr. Kuryakin pulled out these ugly black glasses and put them on. I don't know why a good looking feller like him would wear anything so ugly, but that ain't my business. For a long time, he just looked at it, not saying a word. I thought he'd gone to sleep or something, he was so quiet.

"How did you come to find this?" That's when I realized he was still with us. He reached out and just touched it. This time, the lights didn't change.

"Car was acting sluggish, so I brought it in for GM to check it out. Do you know what it is?"

"I can't be entirely sure until I can get it in the lab and take it apart." Mr. Kuryakin pulled off his glasses, but kept looking at that little box. "And that is the rub." He ran a hand over his jaw and his mouth. "Napoleon, I would recommend that the motor pool be evacuated. I have no idea if this is an explosive device or not. The fact that it hasn't gone off is in our favor."

"I'd like to stay, Mr. Kuryakin." I spoke up; the thought of Lucille all alone, well, it made my heart hurt, pure and simple.

"Are you sure, Mr. Brown? I cannot guarantee your safety."

"Shoot, Mr. Kuryakin, every day's a gamble and if you don't even try, how are you going to win?"

"Good enough. Go, Napoleon."

"I'm staying."

"No, you will be of no benefit to me and we can't both be here. I have to be, but you don't."

''I'm CEA."

"Don't pull rank on me, Napoleon, it won't do any good." Mr. Kuryakin's voice got real quiet then and I think he forgot I was standing there. "I won't risk you, not now." I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but t'weren't my business.

I could see Mr. Solo was all torn up about leaving Lucille, cause he took Mr. Kuryakin's arm, real concerned like.

"Illya… no taking chances…"

"Just go, Napoleon, we'll be fine." He managed this small smile and I nodded, real confident like. Mr. Solo stopped for just a minute longer and then started shoutin' orders. No one put up a fuss, not with him doin' the yellin.' While he was doing that, Mr. Kuryakin was talkin' into his communicator.

"So what do you want from me, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"We are going to wait until the rest of the bomb squad shows up and then we'll see what happens."

"She won't be hurt, will she?"

"Who she?" He glanced around, real confused, lookin' for someone.

"Lucille."

"Who?"

"Lucille." I ran a hand over her fender fondly. "It ain't her fault someone stuck that thing in her. She's just a victim."

"You are talking about… the car, yes?"

"Course." Who the hell else would I be talkin' about? But I didn't say nothin' out loud. Mr. Kuryakin gives a me a real nice little smile.

"I will attempt to cause her as little distress as possible." A bunch of other fellers arrived then and then put up some sort of barrier around Lucille and her engine block and bought up this big heavy-lookin' box.

"Mr. Brown, if you will retrieve your tools, we will see what we have."

We worked real slow checking in and around it, even beneath it with a mirror. I couldn't help but wonder what was taking him so long, but finally he held out his hand.

"A pair of needle nose pliers, please."

"I don't think…" I started, but I handed them over.

He reached in and had just touched the box when a great big ole shower of sparks went up and Mr. Kuryakin let out this big ol' yell. Those Section Three fellers about came out of their skins, but they didn't move.

I knew what had happened and I gave Mr. Kuryakin a shove away from Lucille. He collapsed into a heap, sort of smokin' around the edges.

"You fellers better get a doctor for him. He needs some help."

"No," Mr. Kuryakin tired to get to his feet, but his legs had other idears. They weren't listenin' to him. He tried three times, sort of lookin' like a newborn colt more than anythin' else. "Mr. Brown, a little help?."

"I think you'd better let me handle it from here on in, Mr. Kuryakin. You ain't lookin' so good."

"You're not qualified."

"Mr. Kuryakin, I know Lucille better than anyone alive. 'Sides, I don't think you're up to it." Even I could see that thingie there was drawing power direct from the battery. You were grounded until you touched the pliers to it, then you completed the circuit and like Mr. Kuryakin, got a helluva jolt of pure juice. I'd only done that once and wasn't keen to do it again.

He finally got to his feet without my help and tried to pick up the pliers. His hand were shakin' a bit, probably everything in him tryin' to figure out what to do with all that extra juice he picked up. I offered him another pair of pliers, but he shook his head.

"Perhaps I could use your help," he admitted, not tryin' to take them from me. "Disconnect the battery."

"Gotcha, boss." Like I didn't know that, but I let him talk me through it. And on we went, moving slow like, him telling me what to do, and even though most of it were common sense, least to me, I didn't let on. "It's free. Now what?"

"We need to pick it up very carefully and put it over in the bomb safe."

"The what?"

"That box over there. Once you start, you have to do it very smoothly and not jostle it. Very quickly, you might have only seconds. Do you understand?"

Well, shoot, I ain't stupid and I did as he told me. I turned back around to grin at him and he was this big old lump on the floor, out cold to the world. He'd held it together long enough for the job and then when that weren't a issue, he just went down like a sack of potatoes

I never did really find out what that little box thingie was, but I didn't care. By the end of the day, I'd made it up to Lucille and she was singing like an angel. I went down to Medical to let Mr. Solo know he could pick her up . I got close to one of the recovery rooms and I heard Mr. Solo talkin'.

"Come on, Illya, it's just Jell-o."

"No, I have had my lifetime allotment of that atrocity; get me something real to eat or take it away."

I stood just outside the door, sort of waiting for a good moment. I could see Mr. Solo was offering him a bowl with a bunch of green stuff in it, lime Jell-O I would guess, but Mr. Kuryakin weren't having none of it.

"Sorry, the Doc says it's this or nothing until all your tests come back. You still have an irregular heartbeat from that little trick you played."

"I didn't want to hurt Lucille…"

"Who?"

"Your car. That's what Mr. Brown calls it. Bizarre individual, but I couldn't have done it without his help."

I weren't hurt by him callin' me bizarre. I'd been called a mite worse by folks I respect a whole bunch less than him.

"He's a gifted mechanic and he really loves that car, more than I do at times." Mr. Solo stuck his finger into the whipped cream on top of the Jell-o and offered it to Mr. Kuryakin, who just shook his head.

"No, thank you. Knock yourself out."

"You're no fun when you're like this."

"Trade places with me and we'll talk."

"They'll go on like that for hours," this pretty little nurse said to me as she passed. "If you have something to tell them, you just have to barge in and say it."

But I couldn't; there was just something going on in that room that I knew I'd never have. I would never feel that close to another person as I would a car. That was okay though, I didn't mind, not really. I liked my life just fine and I never had to worry about one of my cars trying to make me eat lime Jell-o. Nope, I had my engines and that was all I needed. I guess…


End file.
